Letters Home from a Yankee Doughboy 1916-1919

It was July the twenty-fifth,
That K received the call,
And the boys of dear old Somerville
Assembled in the hall;
We all were bright and happy,
And our folks, tho’ sad, all knew
It was the highest honor,
Our duty thus to do;
We may have looked quite awkward,
When we answered to our name,
But after one month’s training,
We couldn’t be called the same.

On July the twenty-seventh,
We left our dear home town,
To keep the German Kaiser
From hauling “Old Glory” down;
Mayor Cliff addressed the boys,
And our people all were near,
And while he spoke those farewell words,
In many eyes were tears,
On my left I saw a mother,
Wipe the tear drops from her eye;
On my right I saw a father,
Who could hardly say Good-bye.

And when at last we started,
We could hear them say “Be Good”;
Our voices were pretty shaky,
As we answered that we would;
It’s not a streak of yellow
That makes the tear drops flow,
It’s the love that’s in a fellow,
For his home and folks, you know;
It’s a man that has this feeling,
(A brute that’s otherwise)—
Even tho’ his voice is shaky,
And the tear drops fill his eyes.

We pitched our Camp at Lynnfield,
A place we’ll ne’er forget;
We were loved by all its people,
And we’re lonesome for them yet;
We had just become acquainted,
When we were ordered on our way,
And there’s many a girl in Lynnfield,
For a soldier boy will pray;
We found them to be ladies,
They found us gentlemen;
And we know that we’ll be welcome
If we’re down that way again.

We then entrained for Westfield,
On the train we had some fun;
And we landed there next morning,
After twenty-three hour’s run;
Beside the track we had our breakfast,
There was plenty for the men;
I captured nine good helpings,
And I tried to make it ten;
But Lieutenant Lunn was on the job,
And he said “Oh, Murphy’s here”—
And our old friend Corporal Marshall,
Escorted me to the rear.

Then we marched into our Camp,
To join the others there;
And for the beginning of the end,
We started to prepare;
Last night came our dividing line,
And now we realize,
What parting in the army means,
To a crowd of regular guys;
They may have torn us all apart,
But in spirit we are one;
And whatever Company we are in
We’ll be behind the gun.

We’ll ne’er forget each other,
Nor the ones we left behind;
And the people we met in Camp,
Will be always in our mind;
The time has come to go to France,
Now K boys don’t forget,
We still belong to Somerville,
And the pace we’ve got to set;
We’ll get together at the end,
Those who do not fall,
And have a hell of a picnic,
In the Somerville High School Hall.